


Three Points (Where Two Lines Meet)

by purplehairedwonder



Series: Assassin 'verse [3]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-20
Updated: 2013-09-20
Packaged: 2017-12-27 04:03:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/974102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplehairedwonder/pseuds/purplehairedwonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sebastian arrives in Paris on a mission, he finds Blaine already there seducing his target--Kurt Hummel. Spy!AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Points (Where Two Lines Meet)

**Author's Note:**

> Story title comes from the Ellie Goulding song "Tessellate."

Sebastian nodded at the security guard at the door, straightened the lapel on his tuxedo jacket, and stepped inside the ballroom. He stopped just inside the doors, stepping aside to study the room. Men in designer suits danced with women wearing more in jewelry than Sebastian would make in a lifetime. Refreshment tables lined an adjacent wall while waiters mingled among the well-dressed party attendees, offering flutes of champagne.

Sebastian scanned the room until he found his target—Kurt Hummel, an up-and-coming fashion designer whose line was garnering headlines at this year’s Fashion Week. But his design company was the cover for international arms brokering; he’d recently sold to a fundamentalist terrorist group who had planned a bombing in London, which was how he’d ended up on MI6’s radar. According to his file, Hummel actually did design his clothes, but said designs also opened up doors to expensive parties and high scale clientele, with whom he later brokered under the table deals with.

He was also unapologetically flamboyant and the higher ups at MI6 had a sense of humor, so Sebastian had gotten the assignment to either turn him into an asset or bring him in for prosecution.

Sebastian noted that Hummel was surrounded by wealthy ass kissers but his gaze kept drifting across the room. Sebastian followed his eye line—

And laughed to himself. Of course _he_ would be here.

Blaine sat at the piano, fingers dancing across the keys in a practiced manner as he serenaded the room at large. He periodically glanced up at Hummel and his concentrated expression softened each time. Sebastian pressed his lips together and made his way toward the piano instead of Hummel as he’d originally intended; the CIA’s involvement—which made sense since Hummel _was_ American—was going to complicate Sebastian’s mission exponentially.

“I didn’t know you played, Killer,” Sebastian said by way of greeting as he reached the piano. He leaned his hip against it and tilted his head curiously.

Blaine looked up, startled, as his fingers slipped from the piano keys. He recovered himself quickly though and schooled his expression, quirking an eyebrow at Sebastian as he resumed playing.

“Sebastian. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to see you here.”

“You know me, Anderson. I’m very fashionable.”

Blaine snorted, glancing from Sebastian across the room, presumably to Hummel. “I don’t think there’s a runway for spy fashion this season.”

“Damn. Well, at least the scenery will make the trip worthwhile,” Sebastian replied, eyeing Blaine in his admittedly spectacular suit.

Blaine huffed a laugh. “Cute.”

“But seriously Blaine, you play really well.” For some reason it bothered Sebastian that he didn’t know that about Blaine; it seemed important for a reason that Sebastian couldn’t put his finger on.

Blaine shrugged, though Sebastian thought there might have been a bit of pink on his cheeks. “Thanks. I’ve been playing since I was little.”

“Really.” That definitely wasn’t in his file.

Blaine nodded. “I wanted to be a performer when I was younger, you know. I was going to be a singer or on Broadway. The whole spy thing was never on my radar.”

Interesting. If Blaine was as good a singer as he was a pianist, he should’ve been a star, not running around the world with secret identities and risking his life for meager pay. “So what happened?”

“When I was 14, I was attacked,” Blaine replied, and Sebastian watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed heavily. “For taking another boy to a school dance.”

Sebastian sucked in a sharp breath. He knew from Blaine’s file that he’d grown up in a conservative part of the country where hate crimes were unfortunately common.

Blaine locked his gaze on the keys in front of him as he spoke, though continued to play without missing a note. “One of the guys stepped on my throat and did some pretty serious damage.” He shook his head. “It took surgery and a lot of speech therapy just to regain normal speech.”

“But you weren’t able to sing anymore,” Sebastian surmised.

Blaine shook his head, finishing the song and dropping his hands in his lap like he didn’t know what to do with them. As the final notes died out around the room, there was a smattering of applause that Blaine ignored. It was fascinating, Sebastian thought, seeing Blaine’s mask fall like this. They’d shared plenty in the years they’d been crossing paths in the field, but there was something incredibly intimate about this moment.

“Part of it was the damage, but part of it was also just…” He shook his head. “I haven’t even been able to sing in the shower since,” he said, lips twisting wryly as he looked up at Sebastian.

Sebastian tapped the piano lightly with his palm. “But you kept playing?”

Blaine nodded, running a hand lightly over the keys. “I took up boxing once I’d recovered, but music had always been an escape from the bullying. It helped me get lost in it in a way that nothing else could. I couldn’t sing anymore, but I could still play. So I did. Still do, when I can.”

Sebastian himself had been a member of his high school’s show choir because they were among the best in the nation and Sebastian liked to win—and he had a decent enough voice to earn a few competition solos—but he’d never _needed_ music in the way it sounded like Blaine did.

It was a fascinating piece to the ever-forming puzzle that was Blaine Anderson.

“Blaine,” an unfamiliar voice called out.

Blaine looked up, lips curling into a smile as Sebastian turned to see Kurt Hummel approaching the piano. Apparently he’d escaped his admirers.

“Kurt,” Blaine greeted, rising from the piano bench.

“That last song was beautiful,” Kurt said, coming to a stop between Blaine and Sebastian and reaching out to put a hand on Blaine’s arm.

“Thank you,” Blaine replied, ducking his head.

_Oh, so that’s how it is_ , Sebastian thought with a mental eye roll. He was too much of a professional to react outwardly, though.

“You should really take a break and join me,” Kurt went on, gesturing toward the ballroom.

“That’s not what they’re paying me for,” Blaine replied lightly, though he looked embarrassed by the attention.

So Blaine’s cover was as the entertainment for the party and he’d managed to catch the attention of one of the biggest names in Fashion Week?

_Well played, Anderson._ That blushing schoolboy routine he pulled out at times definitely worked for him.

Kurt scoffed. “Money is hardly the problem. I’m sure we can find someone to spell you for at least one song.”

Blaine opened his mouth, but Sebastian cleared his throat. Kurt glanced over at him and Sebastian smiled back—he had a mission, CIA or not—while Blaine shot him a glare.

“Who’s your friend?”

“Sebastian Smythe,” Sebastian introduced before Blaine had a chance to flounder with potential covers. He stuck his hand out and Kurt shook it lightly before letting go.

“Pleasure.” He looked back at Blaine. “And how do we know Sebastian?”

“Through work. I didn’t know he was going to be here.”

“Blaine’s something of a legend,” Sebastian added, stifling a laugh as Blaine narrowed his eyes. “I never turn down an opportunity to work with him.”

“So you’re a musician as well, Mr. Smythe?” Kurt asked, studying him rather intently.

“Sebastian, please. And I wish,” Sebastian replied easily. “I work for a large British financial firm. We do arts funding, though, and that’s how I met Blaine.”

Kurt looked like he wanted to ask more questions, but Blaine cut him off, running a hand lightly down Kurt’s arm and resting it on his elbow. “It’s really a long, uninteresting story.” He shot Sebastian a look. “And I’m sure Sebastian has business to attend to tonight.”

“Guilty as charged.”

“Well then, we wouldn’t want to keep you, Sebastian,” Kurt said, and Sebastian knew when he was being dismissed. “Take a break, Blaine. There are some people I’d love to introduce you to,” he continued, turning from Sebastian to steer Blaine toward the dance floor.

Blaine glanced over his shoulder at Sebastian with a shrug and mouthed, “Later.”

Sebastian gave him a rueful smile in return. He knew when he’d been outplayed.

* * *

It was a little after three when Sebastian heard the telltale click of a key card sliding into the hotel room door. He jumped up from his seat at the desk where he’d been playing a game on his phone, straightened the chair, and was just closing the closet door when a rumpled Blaine entered the room and turned on a lamp.

Sebastian peered through the slats of the door to see Blaine dialing a number on his phone before switching it to speaker—Sebastian raised an eyebrow at that unspy-like move—and putting it on the desk. He kicked off his shoes and slid them under the desk with a foot.

_“Hey Blaine,”_ an unfamiliar voice greeted as Blaine tugged the loose bowtie from his neck and pulled his jacket off.

For a brief, panicky moment, Sebastian thought Blaine might hang his jacket up in the closet, but he just folded it and draped it over the back of the desk chair. Sebastian let out a sigh of relief and glanced around the darkened closet—apparently Blaine had an abundance of suits for this mission so he could afford to _fold_ a designer jacket.

“Hey Sam.”

Ah, Sam. Blaine had spoken about his handler before; they’d become best friends since being paired together off the Farm. They were the youngest active handler-operative pair in the CIA and also had one of the highest mission success rates—or so Sebastian’s sources told him.

_“Progress report?”_

“We’re still on track,” Blaine replied as he started unbuttoning the wrinkled dress shirt that had been pristinely pressed only a few hours earlier at the party.

_“And he has no reason to doubt your cover?”_

“None,” Blaine replied, touching a hand to his lips. He shifted and Sebastian could see a distant look on his face.

Sebastian gritted his teeth but remained hidden. Blaine might have a head start on Hummel, but Sebastian refused to return to MI6 empty-handed, especially with the high stakes of the current mission.

“Though MI6 is on the scene, which…complicates things.”

_“And by MI6 you mean—”_

“Yes,” Blaine said, cutting his handler off.

Sebastian grinned to himself; he got shit back at MI6 for his connection to Blaine, so it was gratifying to know that he wasn’t the only one.

_“Will Sebastian’s presence, uh,_ interfere _with your mission?”_ Sam asked with the air of someone trying to be delicate.

“No,” Blaine replied immediately, pulling his button down off and laying it on top of his jacket. He was down to a white t-shirt and trousers that did criminal things for his ass. Sebastian could see Blaine’s back muscles flexing through the shirt as he rolled his shoulders, and Sebastian swallowed. “No, he won’t be a problem.”

_“Blaine—”_

“I know what my mission is, Sam,” Blaine interrupted curtly, putting both hands down on the desk and leaning over his phone. “And in case you’ve forgotten, I’m actually pretty good at my job.”

Sam was silent for a stretch before he cleared his throat. _“You’re right, sorry. We’ve just been hearing some chatter—”_

That piqued Sebastian’s interest.

“What kind of chatter?”

_“There’s movement among some of the big players in the Middle East._ ”

MI6 was hearing similar things.

Blaine chewed on his lip a moment before twisting to lean back against the desk and look out over the dimly lit room. “Which players?”

_“We’re not sure yet.”_

Neither was MI6. Hence Sebastian’s current mission.

“Mossad?”

_“Gathering intel, but it’s bigger than just Israel.”_ Sam hesitated. _“The Russians are suspected as well.”_

“FSB,” Blaine muttered darkly, and Sebastian shuddered despite himself. It hadn’t been _that_ long since Blaine had rescued him from a Russian prison; he still dreamt about it some nights and woke up in a cold sweat.

Blaine shook himself and asked, “And Kurt? How does he fit into this?”

_“Chatter puts him at the center of a rather large arms deal.”_

“Of course,” Blaine said, running a hand over his face. “And at a high profile event like this…”

“Easy access,” Sebastian said to himself. Any high-stakes, and likely high-profile, arms buyers would simply have to flash some money to get into one of Hummel’s parties during Fashion Week—a place obscene amounts of money changing hands was the norm—and a deal could be brokered with ease and crowds of people none the wiser.

_“Anything you can find out without spooking him,”_ Sam said with an audible shrug.

“Roger that,” Blaine replied, lips twitching briefly.

_“If it goes bad, you can just bring him in, man,”_ Sam said after a moment. _“I know you don’t like these kinds of missions anyway.”_

Sebastian, on the other hand, thrived on these Bond-esque missions, but it didn’t surprise him that Blaine wouldn’t like them.

Blaine shut his eyes with a grimace. “That would mean a waste of the last week, Sam.”

Sebastian blinked at that. It was only the first day of Fashion Week, yet Blaine had already been in Paris a week? No wonder Hummel was looking at him like he was sex on a stick. And why Sebastian was having to rethink his approach—as was so often the case when he ran into Blaine in the field.

“I know how important this mission is. It’s fine,” Blaine said, though he didn’t sound fine. There was something off in his voice.

_“And Sebastian?”_

Blaine clenched his jaw. “Won’t be an issue. I’ll call you tomorrow, Sam,” he said, reaching for his phone and hanging up on his sputtering handler. He took a breath, then straightened and glanced toward the closet.

“You won’t be an issue, right Bas? I’d hate to be lying to Sam.”

Sebastian grimaced and opened the door. _Busted._

Blaine regarded him with an impassive look as he stepped into the room. “The closet? Really?”

Sebastian shrugged. “It was that or under the bed. And,” he added, lips twisting into a smirk, “the closet takes me back to the less responsible days of my youth.”

Blaine snorted. “Yes. You’re the model of responsibility.”

“So, where’d I mess up?” Sebastian asked, glancing around the room. Nothing looked out of place.

Blaine raised an eyebrow. “I _know_ you?”

“That’s not an answer.”

Blaine just smiled in that infuriating way of his and Sebastian rolled his eyes. “Fine. Don’t tell me.” He crossed his arms against his chest. “And the call on speaker?”

“I knew you’d be listening,” Blaine agreed. Sebastian should’ve known something was off then. “Especially since any sensitive information pertaining to my mission is locked in the safe behind a password you’ll never guess.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Contrary to what popular belief seems to be tonight, I _do_ know what I’m doing.”

“Touchy,” Sebastian retorted, lips twitching upward. He cocked his head to the side. “Besides, I’m well acquainted with your _skills_ , Anderson.” Blaine turned away and Sebastian’s smirk widened. “And from the looks of it, I’m guessing Hummel is too.”

Blaine’s head snapped up at that, his expression hardening. “Sebastian,” he warned.

Sebastian raised his hands defensively; he knew better than most just how dangerous the other man could be. Interesting that he would have that kind of reaction, though. “No judgment here, Blaine. You know I’m all about these kinds of personal missions.”

“Right.” Blaine shifted to face Sebastian squarely. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

“Jealous?”

Blaine scoffed. “Hardly.” And yet, there was something flickering behind his eyes.

Sebastian shrugged. “Look, I know just how _skillful_ you are, Blaine. And you’ve been here a week already? I know when I’m beat.”

Blaine watched him warily. “And what does that mean? I’ve never known you to concede defeat.”

Sebastian shrugged. “I’m rethinking my approach. MI6 has been hearing the same chatter your handler mentioned so I’m not just going back to Britain.”

“You want to work together?”

“Well, we _are_ very good at that.” When Blaine looked like he wanted to object, Sebastian plowed on. “And I think we both want to prevent a major terrorist attack. And if I can get a bit of revenge against the FSB in the process…” he added, as if to himself though he knew full well Blaine would hear it.

Blaine’s expression softened, and Sebastian pushed aside a twinge of guilt.

“So you’re proposing—”

“That we pool our resources. You keep doing your thing, I do mine, and we share our intel.”

“Simple as that?” Blaine sounded skeptical.

Sebastian stepped forward, crowding into Blaine’s space. Blaine bit his bottom lip but let him. Sebastian reached a hand out and brushed a finger down the side of Blaine’s face before cupping his cheek. Blaine’s eyes slid shut.

“Simple as that,” Sebastian murmured, leaning down to kiss Blaine.

Their lips met for a moment, but then Blaine put a gentle hand to Sebastian’s chest and pulled back from the kiss. He took a breath and looked up at Sebastian, expression torn.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Bas.”

Sebastian shoved the disappointment down and stepped back out of Blaine’s space. He nodded and plastered a show smile on, trying not to think about the unfamiliar taste on Blaine’s lips.

“Goodnight, Killer.”


End file.
